


A Different Kind of Love

by Wiwik (CeciliaDuncan)



Category: Simon & Garfunkel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 02:55:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10179125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeciliaDuncan/pseuds/Wiwik
Summary: The history of a different kind of love between two boys/men.





	1. SOMEONE ELSE’S RIDE

**Author's Note:**

> **Review:** this series has not been Beta’d…yet…  
>  **Disclaimer:** any similarities in events and persons are caused through fanciful thinking and fantasizing, but don’t really have anything to do with the real events and real life people bearing the same names. I’m FAKING IT! It’s ALL FICTION!
> 
> This is a series of short stories all about their relationship and how they work and don’t work. Some pieces are rather short, others are fairly long. I also skip around in time, so you’re not going to get it in the right order.

This was exactly the opposite of what Art needed. He didn’t want to be a downer, or a spoil sport, so he put on his bravest face and sweetest smile, but on the inside he was crying and screaming. Paul acted as if nothing had happened. 

While the casual niceties around him continued, he contemplated why he kept saying “Yes” to anything Paul put in front of him or suggested to him. There was no good reason he should be there, on this trip that was “Paul’s and Carrie’s honeymoon”. Certainly not after everything that happened and after all the nonsense, shout contests and nasty fighting. Not after Paul erased all his work and made it a “Paul Simon” album, instead of a “Simon & Garfunkel” album after months of working on it, fighting over it and after months of promoting it together on a tour around the world.. Yet, there he was, playing nice, Paul’s best, yet battered, friend..

They’ve come a long time. From quiet and shy explorations in sexuality to grown men in serious relationships with women. They’ve done most of the early explorations together. How was it possible that at age 41, Art was still there for Paul’s ride? Too many reasons not to be there. This was nothing less than awkward. This was nothing less than painful. Art felt misused and mislead. Art felt like he was Paul’s personal playing ball to be batted around till he was so dizzy he couldn’t tell left from right anymore. Of course there were two sides to the story; Paul using him and Art letting himself being used. Truth was Art would still lay himself down for Paul. 

Paul wasn’t exactly sure why he had invited Artie and Penny on his honeymoon. Maybe he was afraid. He was afraid of a number of things; he was afraid he would screw up again and Artie and Penny were their safe keepers for the first few weeks. He was afraid he would lose Artie’s friendship; they’ve not been very close and they fought a lot the last couple of months. Maybe there were other reasons he invited Art to come over with Penny; Penny and Carrie were after all good friends. In Paul’s head it all made perfect sense and Artie’s present was something familiar and safe.

Both men would look for those moments and remember them fondly.


	2. When Friends Just Can't Be Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul's around to support Art after he lost Laurie.

Art wanted to appreciate Paul’s present, but the happenings from the last couple of months overwhelmed his ability to feel anything close to something positive. Laurie’s suicide had picked him up off of solid ground and threw him into a bottomless well. He was drowning, falling and suffocating in a confusing mess of bewilderment, guilt, hopelessness and frustration. It felt like a heavy blanket of depression and he didn’t know how to escape it, nor did he really want to escape it. He wanted to feel miserable over his loss of Laurie. He vowed he would never forget and he didn’t want to betray her in any way. So he sat there, gloomy, sad and unapproachable. 

Paul had never been very good at dealing with people’s personal problems. What could he say? What could he do? The best thing he could think of was making sure Artie was at least eating and breathing. He received Art’s visitors, and helped answering his mail and the phone. Other than that, he would tip-toe around Art doing whatever he was doing, or he sat quietly with him while he was writing. He did not ask Art how he was feeling, that was quite obvious and it seemed to irritate him. He did not try to make Art talk, or at least come out of his lonely musings. He was just simply there and though Art did not thank him for it or show any sign of appreciation, Paul knew that was all Art needed from him now.

In the evening Paul put a plate of hot food in front of Art: “You have to eat something.”

Art looked uninterested at the plate, but took it off the table anyway. He only managed a few bites before he put it back on the table and returned his attention to Laurie’s diary. Paul watched quietly while he chewed his food. Once Paul was finished and was about to take his dirty plate to the kitchen he nudged Art indicating at the still half full plate.

“You want me to warm it up?”

Art stared at the plate and replied in a monotonous flat voice: “Sure…”

It didn’t matter, Art’s hunger never came and he only managed a few more bites before pushing the plate away again.

During the rest of the evening Paul played a bit of guitar trying not to get too cheerful and loud. Art never reacted, his eyes going over the same pages of the diary over and over. Paul played till he was too tired and he just wanted to sleep. He put his guitar back in its cover and set it aside. Art was still reading Laurie’s diary having said not one word to Paul since the meal.

“C’mon Artie, let’s go to sleep.”

Art snapped out of his isolation: “You’re not staying!”

“I’ll sleep on the couch; you can do in there whatever you want, I won’t disturb you,” Paul pointed at the bedroom trying to put his mind at ease.

Art thought for a few moments before resigning to the situation and went into the bedroom with Laurie’s diary and a barely audible ‘Good night’.

Paul went to brush his teeth wondering when was the last time Art had brushed his teeth and that he should try to persuade him to take a bath and get clean. He took a spare blanket from a closet and settled on the couch falling asleep almost immediately.

In the middle of the night he was woken by Art gently yet urgently nudging his arm. Paul blinked at him trying to rub the sleep from his eyes: “You’re ok?”

Art looked annoyed and Paul tried again: “I mean, why you’re up?”

Art squatting in front of him was visibly uncomfortable: “I just need…I mean….Could you…”. 

He sighed before confessing: “I just wish my mother was here. Everything was always right and safe with her.”

Art had not asked for what he needed, but he didn’t need to. 

Paul got up: “All right, let’s go to bed.”

Art was relieved he didn’t need to ask it out loud.

The two men settled in bed, Paul first with Art nestling in his arms, Art’s head on Paul’s chest. Art could hear the familiar and comforting beat of Paul’s heart; it calmed him down and made him feel safe. It cast both of them back to one of their most intimate memories.


	3. Innocence and Confidences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two teenage boys having fun.

Rumours went around the school about Paul’s and Art’s relationship. They did everything together, from walking to school to making homework to playing baseball after school. They even did their detentions together and then of course, they spent hours and hours practicing their harmonies and the new songs they wrote together. They seemed to be together all the time, even spending nights at each others house from time to time. People came to expect to see them together. People were wondering about it. Children in their neighbourhoods made up their minds.

Art pondered the things they said about him and Paul. He also pondered what Paul had to say about that. Paul always said no-one knew anything about them, they didn’t understand, they couldn’t. Then there were Art’s feelings and emotions. He often got too excited to his own liking about seeing Paul. There were those warm butterflies fluttering about and he found almost anything Paul did great. He was not sure if that was, because he found it genuinely great, or because it was Paul doing it. Possibly it was a bit of both.

There was no question Art admired Paul’s apparent ease at writing and making music and Artie was willing to sing any melody Paul would come up with. They were still thinking in the same vein, they were still listening to the same music and nurturing the same dreams. They still had the same heroes and would go miles to get their records and then, when back home, spend the rest of the day listening to it deciphering the melodies and harmonies and then trying it themselves. It was an exciting time for both of them. Art wouldn’t want to share it with anyone else.

The evenings on their own were sparse; family members were always intruding. So Paul and Art kept to practising their music. Paul was writing almost constantly and coming up with new songs nearly every week, something Paul would later think back to with envy. Quite a few of them were throw-away-songs, but Art received every single one with the same enthusiasm. Sometimes they would write together, but Paul moved faster than Art, ideas spilling from his young mind like flowers out of the ground. Art the early perfectionist, was already insistently working on getting the harmonies for every song as good as they could and he would force Paul to put down the pen and rehearse those harmonies. In one week they would usually practise on about three songs almost none stop driving parents and siblings mad by sheer repetition y which point Paul would present Art with new songs Art could work on while he was writing new songs. Their early partnership was taking shape and showing early versions of how they would work professionally.

When family members were not present to disturb, other ideas were nestling in those teenage boys’ heads. Just like any other young teenagers, they were travellers on a sexual discovery. Their young minds wandering as they would and wondering because of the situation they found themselves in and everybody else seemed to be obsessed with. You would think, venturing out to try same-sex experiences, would be a nerve racking, uncomfortable task, but Paul and Art were most comfortable with each other. They trusted each other, they understood each other without having to spill a word or even look at each other. The sum of their age, the rumours and their closeness could only lead to one result. So, when they were the only ones in the house…

They spent the afternoon playing ball first and working on their music later. There was excitement in the air, because it would be the first time they were truly alone in the house. Not just the brothers out of the way, but also no parent s present to suddenly walk into the room. The ball game was just foreplay and the music further warming up. Food was a bit of interruption, mainly because Paul made a real mess of it and the food ended up inedible. They giggled their way through the cooking and eating leaving most of it uneaten in the thrash. 

Eventually they sat side by side watching television. Art sitting up his legs lazily off the couch. Paul lay on his side, his head resting on his right hand and his elbow resting on the armrest. Art could feel Paul’s foot touching his thigh. He put his hand gingerly on Paul’s lower leg and peeked to see if Paul reacted. Paul had turned his head and looked at him with those dark unreadable eyes. Art slowly moved his hand from Paul’s ankle up onto his shin all the while watching Paul’s face. Paul’s face was turned to the television again, but Art wasn’t sure Paul was really watching TV. Art shifted from one end of the couch to the middle of the couch pulling Paul’s leg up over his lap. Then he let his hand travel over Paul’s knee toward Paul’s shorts. Just before he pushed his hand into the short, he glanced trying to determine how Paul was going to react. When he couldn’t detect any objections he moved his hand into the short up Paul’s inner thigh. Now he was getting a bit nervous, a trembling finger moving along the outline of Paul’s private parts. Art heard Paul’s breathing changing, if only slightly. His hand moved carefully over the bulge squeezing gently. Paul took a sharp breath in. Art kept his hand moving and pressing at a steady pace, listening to Paul’s breathing getting faster and more irregular till Paul put his hand over Art’s stopping him.

He gets up, Art watching him wondering what’s going on. Paul gestures to him to stay put while he runs out of the room. For a while Art sits alone, wondering if Paul had just left him there. That would be weird. He wondered if he should follow Paul. No need, Paul walked into the lounge holding a few towels.

“Mom will kill me if we get stains on the couch.”

Art nodded: “Oh, I see.” He got up to help Paul spread some towels over the couch, two were set aside for later use. Sitting back down next to each other, Art looked at Paul who sat looking at him. Strange how a small break like that could create an awkward situation. Art had no clue how to pick up where they left off; should he start over? Paul started to take his shirt off while Art watched in awe. Paul was small and skinny yet nicely tanned and even a bit muscled. Paul turned his head expectantly at Art. Art stroke a finger over Paul’s bare arm. His skin felt warm and soft. There was nothing Art wanted to do more than taking Paul’s small frame into his arms to feel him close, breathing, moving, and alive. So much live, so alive, there was nothing more beautiful on earth. The rest of his hand followed his finger moving up Paul’s arm over his elbow towards his shoulder blades. He pulled Paul into his embrace nuzzling his nose in Paul’s hair.

Art felt a hand under his shirt and another tugging at his jeans. Art trembled at the realization he was hugging his best friend. Could it be true? Was he gay? What did his parents think? Art’s stream of thoughts were interrupted when Paul’s hand slipped into his jeans and cupped one of his buttocks. Art pulled Paul closer to him feeling muscles under Paul’s skin move, tense and stretch. Art loved to feel the workings and movement. His mouth kissed the side of Paul’s face, his tongue licked at Paul’s ear and his lips nipped at Paul’s earlobe. Paul breathed into Art’s ear while a finger tried to reach down between Art’s buttocks. Faces, hands, lips, touches, tastes, hearts pounding. The world around them didn’t matter anymore.

Art found Paul’s mouth and put his lips over Paul’s sucking and licking. All he wanted was to taste him, to kiss him all over. All thoughts of sex had strangely abandoned his mind. He wanted to make love. No, he wanted to love and be loved. He wanted to wrap himself in and around Paul. He wanted to hold him, keep him close, safe and comfortable. He wanted to know, to be assured, they would always be together. Art didn’t care in what capacity, any would be fine, as long Paul was near. The only way he could think of and the only way he dared to express his love for Paul was holding him close, his hands in intimate places, his lips kissing and his tongue stroking the inside of Paul’s mouth. Art didn’t care that people might think they were a gay couple. Paul was right, nobody knew what they were or how their relationship worked. It was none of their business anyway.

Paul’s hands moved up Art’s back grabbing him tightly as Paul moved them into a horizontal position, Paul on the bottom, Art on top. Art enjoyed the pressure he was putting onto Paul. He stared deep into Paul’s eyes, trying to see into his thoughts and his desires, but Paul’s eyes were so dark, there was nothing to read. Somehow Paul always seemed to be waiting for him, even when he was not waiting. Art had no idea, but he always followed Paul.  
Art could feel Paul breathing beneath him, his chest rising and falling. Art could even feel his heart beating, comfortably yet excited. He wanted to really feel Paul, skin to skin, so he took off his t-shirt. Paul helped him get the shirt over his head and arms and tossed it on the floor. Art felt Paul’s skin burning against his. He put his hands around Paul’s neck cupping his face and stroking down his shoulders to his arms. Paul just stared up at him letting him do whatever he wanted. Art moved his hands back up to Paul’s face stroking his jaw. Gingerly he put his lips to Paul and kissed him. His left hand slid under Paul’s head pulling him into the kiss. Paul’s hands were stroking his back, a finger trailed over his spine causing Goosebumps. 

In the quiet of the lounge they made love to each other. There was no-one there to stop them, there were no distractions. The arousal between them grew steadily as their tongues circled around, their lips nipped and hands dared to feel more intimate places. Art’s jeans was getting very uncomfortable and sweaty. Paul had already opened the fly and his hand was feeling around gently squeezing the bulge in Art’s pants. Art clumsily pulled at his jeans trying to lower it. Not wanting to break away from Paul’s lips and his other hand still behind Paul’s head, made the task hard. He didn’t need to worry, Paul’s hands joined pulling the jeans down till he couldn’t reach any further. Art used his feet to get his jeans completely off as he shimmied and kicked at his jeans rubbing against Paul in the process. Paul’s hands were in his pants kneading and massaging his butt. Art groaned at the friction of skin against jeans. Paul’s jeans had to come off as well. Art fumbled with the zipper taking his attention away from what his mouth was doing. He could feel Paul smirk and when he focused on Paul’s face he saw the dark eyes sparkle, something he hardly ever saw.

Paul’s hands joined Art’s undoing the zip and getting rid of the jeans. Then Paul took Art’s underwear and pulled it down till Art took over and kicked the boxers to join the jeans. Paul meanwhile got rid of his underwear as well and Art became very aware of the increased intimacy. He couldn’t help but blush when he lowered himself down onto Paul. Paul’s hand ghosted down his thighs and then between them to further Art’s arousal. Art lay on top of Paul just staring into his eyes as the pressure build. His fingers were digging into Paul’s shoulders as his hips started to move back and forth pulling and pushing in Paul’s hand. 

Paul seemed to enjoy the power he had over Art and what he could do to him. Art’s mouth was hanging open as he gasped in pleasure. His eyes glaced over and his cheeks flushed a bright red. Paul loved how innocent and angelic Artie looked. He loved it best set off against Artie’s character; because it turned out, Artie had his own mind, ideas and ways of dealing with things; not always agreeable. He wasn’t mean spirited, he was just not as angelic as his appearance. Art also knew how to turn his appearance to his advantage and many times to their advantage. He was also loyal, like a dog and he admired Paul. Artie was the most faithful, most supportive and encouraging person Paul knew. And he was delightfully weird; he never ceased to surprise and fascinate Paul. He admired Artie for staying true to himself without paying any attention to public opinion. He loved and admired Artie for being so wonderfully weird. He simply loved Artie.

Paul watched Artie’s face closely as the sexual tension was visibly building in him. Paul took great pleasure in knowing how to manipulate Artie. Artie always seemed a willing victim. Paul didn’t mean to hurt him, it was just nice to know there was someone who had complete faith and confidence in him. It was comforting to know there was someone so loyal, he would always be there for Paul, no matter what crap he had to deal with. Maybe it was a bit unfair and from time to time Paul would make a big gesture.  
Just when Art was about to come, Paul stopped. It took a little while for Art to catch up, when he did he looked down at Paul in a mix of disappointment, surprise and confusion.

“What’s the matter?”

Paul shook his head: “Nothing.” He pushed himself up on his arms in a half sitting position.

“Why did you stop?”

Paul stared at Art for a little while not responding. Art pushed himself up onto his knees still sitting over Paul’s legs.

Eventually Paul broke the silence: “Do me.”

More confusion took hold of Art going: “Huh!?”

Paul pulled his legs from under Art and leaned them over Art’s shoulder: “Penetrate me.”

Art looked uncertain: “You’re sure about this?”

“Yes,” Paul nodded emphasizing it by lying down.

His legs were hanging over Artie’s shoulders lifting his hips of the couch. He stared expectantly at Artie. 

Art moved closer to Paul’s entrance. They had never done this before and Art was nervous about it. What if he hurt Paul? What if it was no good at all? Paul was insistent though, so Art went ahead. Carefully he got hold of Paul’s hips and pushed the head of his erect penis between Paul’s cheeks. Paul’s mouth opened in anticipation, his eyes still fixed on Artie’s face. Art pushed till he met resistance and paused before really pushing in. Paul’s look was encouraging. Art took a deep breath and then slowly forced his hard on in the entrance. Paul took a sharp breath as Art slid in. He looked up at Paul to check if he was all right. Paul’s eyes closed for a few moments then returned to the fixed stare at Art. In a breathy voice Paul urged Art to go on. Art’s hands supporting Paul’s hips pulled him up while he pushed in further slowly opening the ring of muscle and filling him up. Paul winced slightly at the friction, his face contorted into a painful grimace. 

Art immediately stopped and was about to pull out when Paul gasped: “It’s okay. Just give me a moment.”

Art was ready to immediately abandon the mission and to catch Paul in his arms. Paul was determined and after a few deep breaths, he told Art to keep going. Art held on to Paul’s hips keeping him steady and controlling the movement as he slowly moved out and then moved back in. Paul was wincing again, but encouraged Artie to keep going. With every sway back and forth the movement became smoother and Paul relaxed in Artie’s hands. Art could feel the pleasure growing again and he dared to move freely when he saw the calm look on Paul’s face. He even almost looked blissful. 

The feeling of Paul’s insides hugging Art’s most intimate parts were incredible. It felt so good to feel Paul all around him. This was the closest, the most intimate and the most personal they could get and it felt so good. After a little while of thrusting in and out of Paul, Art paused to reposition himself in Paul. He wiggled a bit to find the right position to finish the ride. He had no idea what happened or what he did, but one moment he felt himself fall into a position and a split second later Paul gasped, his eyes and mouth wide open while his fingers grabbed the towels and dug into the couch.

“Oh, Artie,” he moaned.

Art felt a wave of excitement hit him urging him to move, to pull out and jerk back in hard causing Paul to gasp again. Art’s hips automatically repeated the movement sending pleasure and adrenaline throughout his whole body. Soon enough his hips lost all rhythm as pounded in and out of Paul. Paul’s breathing was fast and uneven. His hips were jerking in Art’s hands. Then Paul came with a series of short quick breaths matching the short quick thrusts of his hips, covering his own stomach in sperm. As he came his muscles contracted sweetly around Art sending Art into orgasm as well. Their bodies shuddered and spasmed as they released themselves. Slowly, as the orgasm wore off, calmed down and exhaustion took hold of them. Art’s grip on Paul’s hips lost their power letting Paul drop back onto the couch. Art dropped back out of Paul leaving him sitting on his knees leaning sideways against the couch. He was still catching his breath when Paul sat up, wrapped his arms around Art and fell back onto his back pulling Artie on top of him once more. His arms held Art in a tight embrace as Art rested his head on Paul’s chest. He enjoyed listening to Paul’s steady heartbeat. The calm of the beat and the warmth of the arms made him feel comfortable. This was the best moment yet. The orgasm had been wonderful, mind blowing even, but this embrace was more than Artie could wish for.


	4. A Bridge Too Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The period around the album Bridge Over Troubled Water

How do two people know each other for so long? How do they not fall apart?

There was no question, not in Paul’s mind, not in Art’s mind, that solo projects should be pursued. So neither was surprised they weren’t always on the same path anymore. What did surprise Art though, was that he found himself on a path with no immediate opportunity to get back on the same path as Paul. Paul had not only chosen a new direction, but had also cut off any connections between his and Art’s paths. Art was even more shocked to find out through strangers; Paul had never said that after Bridge, that was it. Suddenly, Art had no Simon & Garfunkel to return to after filming “Carnal knowledge”. He had nothing else to fall back on and he had no planned projects ahead. 

Art felt a little betrayed. It was as if Paul had taken away his most precious and prided possession. It tainted the success of the album “Bridge over troubled water” and all the singles off of it. Art had indented to fully enjoy that success, but now he couldn’t, because his relationship with Paul was in the way. He hated anyway when they were like this. It was as if he thought he knew Paul, but didn’t. It was as if their relationship was nothing more than a convenience, or a means to achieve goals. It was as if their relationship had become nothing more than a commodity for everybody to see, judge and criticize. It made Art fell deeply uncomfortable; he didn’t want to explain it to anyone. He couldn’t really explain any of his relationship with Paul to anyone, and it was nobody’s business but his and Paul’s. Yet, there it was, for all to see,

He never wanted to quite Simon & Garfunkel; he just wanted to be on a more equal footing with Paul in terms of activities he busied himself with. He couldn’t do the writing or guitar playing, he tried that and wasn’t happy with what he produced. Besides, compared to Paul’s songs and guitar playing, there was no way Art would find that equal footing, Art saw no situation in which one of his songs would end up on an album, nor did he see any situation in which he would play the guitar instead of Paul. He had to find something else that could balance them out properly and acting seemed the way to Art. Unfortunately, Paul thought differently.

It was an awkward event for both Paul and Art. Neither men were into faking their feelings or being overly social when they didn’t feel like it.The success of their album and single deserved them with several Grammy’s which they received in awkwardness without even acknowledging each other. As much was out there, their very public split, there was much left unsaid. Not just unsaid to the public, but also between them. Neither man felt like having to deal with each other or each other’s opinions and emotions. Things tended to get too heated between them. They both realized the irony; had they not been that close, had they not loved each other the way they did, it would have been much easier to deal with it and then move on. Had they not found the success they had worked for together so hard, they might have not fallen out and apart. Their success had not only brought them recognition, money and fame, it had also closed them on each other where everybody seemed to constantly look over their shoulders. It had forced them together closer and longer than they cared for. It was too much on top of them not liking to be forced by outside influences, their relationship snapped like a twig under stress.

Both Paul and Art went through the motions; receiving the awards, posing with their awards for the obligatory photo-shoots and conversing politely with colleagues and press. They didn’t waste any words or actions on each other, which made all the proceedings awkward and strange. Nobody dared to say or do anything about it. The sooner it was done, the better.


	5. Burning Bridges Over Troubled Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time around 1975.

They sat quietly in Art’s temporal flat. He had moved there, because he was doing major renovations on his home which had made living there close to impossible. The flat Art was now in was small and cramped; they had to sit in the kitchen to watch television in the living room. Paul had pulled faces and wrinkled his nose in disgust at the flat when he first came in and he wondered why Art moved into this stinking place. Art pointed out it was only temporarily and for now, it was fine.

It had been years since they had a quiet weekend together. After their splitting up when Bridge had been released, they both had been glad to not have to spend any time together, so they didn’t. They concentrated on their careers separate from each other. They both got married, Paul even had a child. They just didn’t feel much like looking each other up. It was as if they overloaded on each other when they were Simon & Garfunkel. The sight of other people, working with other people, had been a breath of fresh air. The regained freedom to do things exactly the way they wanted, without another person criticizing it or giving it another spin into a different direction, had freed them up to develop into different directions. It had been nice and yet…

They had both settled for family life and a solo career and both had failed to get the balance right. Wife’s had gotten frustrated with the lack of attention from their husbands and with the overzealous attention from the rest of the world. The husbands, too focused on their work, realized too late their marriages were falling apart. The husbands had then failed to take the right actions and in 1975 both couples filed for divorce. A strange coincidence or were they still connected in some unexplainable fashion, going through the same situations and dealing with it in the same way at the same time. Whatever the case, it brought them back together.

Paul begrudgingly accepted a bottle of beer, but declined the pot Art planned to smoke. While Paul slowly lurked from his bottle of beer, Art stared at his joint not really wanting to get stoned on his own. They hadn’t spoken much, only the mandatory niceties. This weekend, planned, for whatever purposes, would run from Friday evening to Monday morning. Art was sure Paul’s intentions probably were different to his; he was not actually sure why Paul accepted his invitation. Or was this simply a natural get-together? Art had a few things on his mind he needed to say to Paul. He needed to get the bad taste of the Bridge aftermath out of his system. Something had gone wrong. Art had just wanted a month break, not a breakup. The breakup had been a slap in his face, but it was not what left the knot in his stomach; it was Paul failing to tell him he didn’t want to do anymore Simon & Garfunkel albums. It was Paul working on an album without him, behind his back. It was high school all over again.

Paul could tell Art was brooding and he could guess what about. Paul was not willing to bring that subject up, because he thought it was all very silly and immature. Paul never questioned the bond he had with Art; it was quite clear to Paul. Art seemed to have a different take on what their relationship was and Paul had trouble matching Art’s way of seeing it to his own. Besides, he had said what he had to say about why he wanted to move on and what had bothered him about recording Bridge. Of course they disagreed. Paul just wanted to spend a nice weekend with Art as a friend, nothing else. No drama,

They sat on the floor, drinks, snacks and other consumables scattered on the floor around them. Art moved them around in a fit of boredom. Paul sat next to him fiddling with his beer and moving back and forth changing channels on the TV. They didn’t talk much, there was a pregnant sound of silence between them. After failing to start a conversation and having moved several objects around for minutes, Art gave up with a sigh and “Ah, screw it,” and he lit the joint taking a long drag from it. Paul watched him with a small disgusted grimace on his face.

“What about us?” Art started and Paul repeated the question: “What about us?” shifting the emphases from the word ‘us’ to the word ‘about’.

Art clarified: “Where do we stand?”

“Christ, Artie!” Paul sighed, the grimace now changing into a prominent expression on his face.

Art was not about to let it go: “No, really. Where do we stand?”

“We’re sitting in your grotty little flat,” Paul tried to avoid answering the question.

Art rolled his eyes and put out a next question: “Does this still mean anything to you?”

Paul pulled faces at a none-present audience as if to mock Art.

Art ignored it and dropped another question: “What about all those times we had sex together?”

This time he got a reaction: “I don’t know why I let you do that!!!”

“Didn’t it mean anything to you?” Art spat out irritated and disappointed. Then he realized something: “No, wait, it was not as if I was molesting you.”

Paul avoided Art’s gaze. Still not looking at Art he said: “I never said you were…”

Art let the silence take hold again as he studied Paul’s face and taking another long drag from the joint. He still tried to to figure out where they stood. After a little while of contemplation he put one question out yet again: “So, what does that mean to **us** now?”

Paul shrugged and shook his head: “I don’t know.”

The only way Art knew how to test it was by putting his desires into action so he leaned in kissing Paul half on his lips.

Paul turned away from Art: “Art! Don’t!”

Not listening he grabbed Paul’s chin trying to turn Paul’s face towards him so he could kiss him properly on the lips. Paul pulled away violently creating some distance between them, but Art was not going to accept no. Not this weekend. He moved back into Paul’s personal space and grabbed Paul’s face with both hands roughly conquering Paul’s lips and invading Paul’s mouth with his tongue. Paul placed his hands against Art’s chest and pushed him away with quite a bit of force sending Art falling backwards onto the floor. The speed with which Art pushed himself up and was at him again made clear to Paul how determined Art was to make this happen.

Paul moved backwards trying to avoid Art’s grabbing arms: “Knock it off, Art!”

Art managed to grab Paul’s arm and pulled him aggressively into his embrace. Quickly he turned Paul around and whispered in Paul’s ear: “Not a chance.”

Then he pushed Paul up and against a coffee table pinning him to it restricting Paul’s room of movement. Paul only just in time caught himself on his fore arms as Art pushed him down. Art was using his momentum to pull down Paul’s jeans and underwear and unceremoniously forced his hard on into Paul. Paul was surprised by the speed of Art’s actions and then the rough penetration without any preparation. He couldn’t help but cry out in pain as Art’s dry skin against Paul’s just as dry inside caused a heated friction. Art gasped at the tightness and lack of smoothness of Paul’s anus. Instead of getting worried about it, Art felt a dark pleasure and power descent on him exciting him and driving him on. Without listening to Paul’s whimpers, cries and pleads his movements soon became erratic, uncontrolled and violent. With every thrust he pushed Paul hard into the coffee table, hitting him inside far beyond comfort. After a few minutes Paul was exhausted and couldn’t find a way to draw a proper breath, let alone scream as Art knocked air out of Paul’s lungs with every thrust. Paul gritted his teeth as he rested his head on the coffee table, now simply waiting till Artie was finished. After what seemed hours to Paul, Art finally came filling him up with sperm.

As quickly it had started, it ended with Art letting go of Paul’s thighs and retreating. No longer kept in place, Paul slipped off the coffee table onto the carpet. He lay there catching his breath, his mind still racing and his body still aching. He could barely comprehend what just happened; they’ve never been like this. They were always passive aggressive, hitting each other with words, it had never been physical before. Something had changed so drastically between them, and Paul never even noticed. Now Art’s question echoed in Paul’s mind: “Where do we stand now?” Paul only realized Art had disappeared when he got cold. The room seemed even smaller than before and the darkness and cold made breathing hard. Paul stirred trying to locate Art. Muscles all over his body screamed in pain; he didn’t realize how tense he was. With a pain contorted face Paul pushed himself up into a sitting position. He winced as he tried to sit on his knees slowly forcing himself into a standing position. When he finally managed it, he stood there feeling wobbly. He looked around the room concluding Art could only be in the bathroom. Crookedly walked to feel the bathroom’s door was locked. He tapped it three times.

“Art?” He waited for a reply, but didn’t get one: “Art, unlock the door.” A click announced Art following up the order. 

Paul pushed the bathroom door open and peeked inside to see Art sitting on the side of the bath, elbows pressing into his knees as he leaned his head in his hands.

Art mumbled: “I’m sorry, I don’t know what got over me.”

Paul walked to Art putting an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a hug. Art didn’t expect that and maybe he was afraid Paul was about to strangle him; after all, he had all the right to. Art pulled away from Paul. There was no resistance, just a hand on his shoulder. Art looked up at Paul, not knowing what he expected to see in Paul’s eyes, maybe just the familiar eternal darkness.

Finally Paul spoke: “That’s all right. You were right all along.”

Art looked confused: “Right about what?” 

 

Art carefully put a cloth filled with ice against nasty bruised skin. A hand brushed over his and took over the ice pack. Art sighed, feeling so guilty and bad about what happened? He was also confused about Paul’s reaction; he was not angry, not even really hurt. Now he came to think about it, he never really understood Paul. While several like these thoughts went through his mind, he prepared another ice pack. Only after surveying the damage, Art realized how rough and violent he had been with Paul. He had several bruises on his hips where Art had grabbed him and held him pushed down and against the coffee table. He had some bruises along his ribcage where bone met hard wood and some bruises on his arms from catching himself from being pushed down and from sliding off the coffee table. Paul took the ice pack from Art’s fingers pushing it gently against hot blue skin.

Art watched, his eyes going from one ice pack to the other and to Paul’s face. Paul ignored Art’s pained gazes for the greatest part, only once in a while returning the gaze, his eyes an unusual soft brown. He had told Artie it was all right, that he shouldn’t worry about it. He even told Artie he probably asked for it anyway, but there seemed no things he could say to take away the guild. Art seemed to suffer the aftermath much worse than Paul.

“Artie,” Paul said in a quiet voice. “Stop looking so miserable; it doesn’t suit you.”

Their eyes met and again, Art felt like averting his eyes. He heard Paul move next to him, but only when he felt an arm around his shoulders, he realized Paul had slid off the couch and sat very close to him. Paul reached out and stroke his face the way only Paul could.

“You were right, Artie. I knew things had changed, but I thought it was just the situation, not us. I thought we were still the same.”

“I think I’m still the same…I know you didn’t change.” 

“Then maybe, you weren’t right after all, and I was.”

“Why do you always have to make a competition out of everything?”

“Don’t change the subject..”

“By the way, I never said that we changed, I just asked were we stood.”

“No, you definitely suggested something had changed.”

“Maybe, but I never said we changed”.

Another thick silence. Paul lost all confidence in that he knew what was going on. “No,” he sighed exasperated. “You definitely changed; you would never have done back then what you did this evening.”

Art felt like crying; how could he explain this evening was the sum of his frustrations over the years? He hadn’t changed, neither had Paul; something had just snapped inside of him. He just no longer could handle Paul not understanding what he looked for in him, why Paul’s betrayals hit him hard every single time. He didn’t cry, he avoided Paul’s eyes. He avoided thinking of the mental pains he felt with every back stab. That was how Art felt it, like a knife in his back, twisting and turning, cutting off all nerves. There was so much Art would give in this relationship, all things Paul wasn’t looking for. There were so many things Art wanted from this relationship, all things Paul didn’t or couldn’t give. Art knew he was locked into this bond. Sometimes he wanted it, in the good times. Increasingly, he didn’t want any of it; he didn’t want any of this crazy love.


	6. Sail On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul's and Carrie's honeymoon.

“Before we do this, we have to set a few ground rules,” Penny started the conversation.

Art knew about those ground rules, he had discussed it with Penny before they joined Paul and Carrie on their honeymoon.

“Rule 1: No arguing, no fighting, no squabbling. If there’s something you want to say, think hard before you do so and when you think it will evolve into a fight, don’t bring it up. After this trip we’ve got enough time to bash each other’s heads in.”

Art remained standing behind Penny watching Paul’s and Carrie’s faces as Penny unfolded the rules. Momentarily Paul’s eyes met Art’s, but Art couldn’t read what Paul was thinking. Carrie looked mildly amused, knowing full well all four individuals kept their own opinions and were willing to fight for it hard. She also knew, like everyone involved, this company could be very volatile, explosive even. Her sense of humour made her see the humour in having the rules.

“Rule 2: No talking about work or projects.” Paul suspected Art came up with that one.

Penny continued undisturbed: “Rule number 3: everyone is going to have to give in to the group. If the group wants one thing and you want something else, well, touch luck.”

Carrie chimed in: “Like a democracy.”

Penny nodded and continued: “If at a group day one couple wants something else, they should be allowed once….and since it’s you two’s honeymoon,” at this point she looked behind at Art before continuing: “you get one couple moment extra…That’ll be our wedding present to you.”

Carrie pulled: “That’s a crap wedding present!”

“Rules are already in effect,” Penny cut her off.

Carrie pulled an annoyed face at Penny then turned to Paul who sat leaning back returning a calm gaze: “We’ll get them back later,” he assured his new wife.

Now it was Penny pulling the face: “Great, something to look forward to.” Art remained silent behind her.

“Rule 4…,” Penny turned to Art again: “What was rule 4 again?” Art only moved his eyeballs shifting his stare from the wedded couple to his girlfriend when he replied: “boys/girls day…” and his stare returned to the couple sitting quietly looking up at them.

“Oh yes, we’ll have one day of boys/girls day. You boys can go do whatever you want. I thought you and I could go shopping or something,” Penny finished.

Now finally Paul spoke: “Those are the rules?”

“Oh, and rule 1 is still in effect during rule 3,” Penny quickly added completely ignoring Paul.

“What was rule 1 again?” Carrie inquired with a stoner face. Penny just fixed her a look before exclaiming a bit too cheerful: “Let’s go have fun!”

It was silent between the four of them for a few seconds. Art still stood behind Penny, arms crossed in front of his chest, eyes now fixed on Penny, no word from his lips. Paul and Carrie looked absolutely unimpressed. Only just before the situation could turn frosty Penny marched off the boat to get her and Art’s baggage on board, Art silently with arms still crossed following her.

Carrie giggled: “That was pretty funny.” Paul just hummed a neutral hmmm. As Carrie looked behind her to see Art and Penny lugging their baggage onto the boat, Paul thoughtfully mused: “Let’s just try to keep to the rules.”

A few hours later they were well on their way and Paul stood leaning his hands on the railing as he watched the land move by. He heard Art moving in. He knew it was Art; he recognized his quiet yet confident strut. Without looking up at Art he started talking.

“I’m not sure I’m breaking the rules here, but why did you accept when I invited you and Penny to come along?”

Art blinked confused at the question: “You’re my friend?”

Paul, not quite satisfied with the answer turned to Art: exclaiming: “That’s it!?”

“Is that not enough? I thought you wanted me, us, to come along.”

“Yeah, sure, but you could easily have said “No”.”

“Why should I?”

“Because of what happened.”

Art knew they were inching into a squabble: “You mean, because of what you did?”

Paul remained silent for a while. Art studied his face trying to determine how he was going to react, but he couldn’t. He then turned his gaze at the shore moving by. After a while Paul spoke: “Sure, because of what I did.”

Now it was Art letting the silence descent for a while. He could chose to let it escalate and break all the rules Penny had laid down. Or he could chose to let it go and try and keep the peace. He decided he would win more if he choose the path of peace.

He replied: “You’re still my friend…..You’re meant to be.”


	7. The Other Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they first met.

Opportunities were opening up. Paul had been looking out for opportunities to talk to Art ever since he saw him sing in that talent show. It had only been a few months since Paul found out a bit more about him than just his name and that he could sing well. It had been the full two years since Paul first saw and heard him that he knew they had to meet at some point. He had been looking out for him, just never presented with the opportunity to actually go and talk to him. He’d been watching Art hanging and joking around with some other boys. Art was different compared to all the other kids; he didn’t seemed to be bothered all that much about what other kids found normal and fun, Art made his own decisions. Art didn’t really care people thought it weird he sang to himself about everywhere, or that he had plotted out a detailed plan for their progress in the musical. Oh yes, this musical thing Art was in, Paul was in it too, bringing him closer to Art than he had ever been before.

Paul wasn’t exactly sure what to say to him, but he was confident the words would come. He waited till most boys had left and Art was left with only two or three other boys. Paul walked in basically staring the other boys away; he wanted this moment to be just him and Art. Art was swinging from a rafter quietly watching how the boys left while Paul moved in slowly. He didn’t come down to the floor, instead he remained hanging looking down at Paul. He waited for Paul to start.

Paul wasn’t sure if Art was keeping a higher viewpoint on purpose, but it wasn’t going to scare Paul away.

“Hi,” he started.

Art, still hanging from the rafters, replied somewhat cautiously: “Hi.”

Paul wanted to express how this meeting was supposed to happen. Not quite sure how to do that he said: “You’re Art Garfunkel.”

Art frowned and momentarily stopped swinging. Eventually, with a slight sway to swing again he answered: “Yes, I know.”

Paul stepped forward extending his hand: “I’m Paul Simon.”

Art stopped swinging again and still hanging his shook Paul’s hand replying: “Yes, I know.”

“I saw you sing in a talent show two years ago.”

Art, swinging again: “Oh, yes? I’m sure I did.”

“You should have won.”

“Didn’t I?” Art sounded somewhat surprised and wounded.

“No, that girl Lennie Parsons did.” Paul watched Art slightly swaying back and forth while Art’s sparkling blue eyes were fixed on him.

“I always knew we were going to meet. We had to.”

Art frowned again, his swaying stopped. For a few seconds he hung still staring at Paul. Paul wondered how weird it was what he had just said. Later in life Paul was convinced Art had exactly calculated how weird it had been on a scale from 1 to 10. It probably scored an 8 or 9. Paul was also convinced that high score of weirdness attracted Art. No matter the case, it was this point Art decided to drop to the floor.

Standing in front of Paul, Art only now realized how small Paul was and he couldn’t help doing a quick length check. Paul saw it and was clearly not amused.

Paul snapped: “Wot!?”

Art shrugged: “Nothing….You make up by being headstrong, you don’t really need the length.”

It was nearly their first spat, but Paul mellowed quickly. Art was immediately fascinated by him. It was quite clear Paul was nothing like the other kids. Yes, Art was sure they could be friends, close friends even. Yes, this meeting was meant to be.


	8. Together Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Period around 1985.

“Why do you think our lives are still so alike?” Paul mused out loud.

Art stopped his fiddling with some papers and gave Paul a quizzical look: “Do you really have to ask?”

Now it was Paul’s turn to give Art a quizzical look: “It’s not that obvious.”

“It’s not!?” Art was getting irritated. He paused, then said: “We’re a team! That’s why.”

“What does that have to do with it!? And we haven’t been a “team” for quite a while now.”

Art was not convinced: “Sure we still are.”

“Art, we don’t do enough things together that can be classified as teamwork; therefore, we’re not a team anymore.”

Art shook his head: “No, I don’t think it works like that, not for us, anyway.”

Paul was getting annoyed: “Why would it work differently for us?”

“Because we’re not other people. Because we’re supposed to be team. That’s why our lives are “still so alike”.”

Paul gave up shaking his head. 

For a little while they just minded their own business, with Art writing frantically on his papers and Paul continuing his musing. Thoughts seemed to be flying in circles in Paul’s head bringing him back to the question why both he and Art were single again at the same time. Paul was not the kind for conspiracy theories, but in this case, it could very well be. He knew Penny and Carrie were good friends and he was sure they had discussed their relationships with each other, especially when they were dating him and Art. Paul knew Art and Penny had arrived at the conclusion of breakup together; maybe Penny had convinced Carrie she would be better of without him. Other, more disturbing rumours, even talked about Penny and Carrie being gay and in a relationship with each other. If that was true, how could he not have noticed? Did Carrie know about him and Artie? Hmmm, interesting question.

“Did Penny ever say anything about what Carrie was doing or thinking about her relationship with me?”

“You mean, did we talk about you and Carrie? Yeah, sure.”

“Did she ever say anything…uh…interesting?”

“Interesting, like what?”

“Like, Carrie met such and so?”

“I don’t know any such or so’s…”

Paul pulled a face at Art: “Haha, funny. But seriously, did she, Penny, ever say anything about Carrie wanting to leave?”

“Paul, everybody who knows the two of you were always wondering about when you two would split up again.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Paul sighed.

It irritated Art that Paul acted as if he didn’t know and was annoyed with the fact of rumours. Paul plucked at a loose thread in his jeans while Art returned to his paperwork.

Paul couldn’t quite yet let go of the subject: “Don’t you think it’s weird we’re both single at the same time? As if they ran out of us together.”

Art gave him a sideways look: “I was wondering where the second half of this elevating conversation tied into the first half…”

“Don’t you wonder about it?” Paul mused on.

“No, not really,” Art denied. “Our breakup was a mutual decision.”

“You’re sure Penny didn’t say anything to Carrie?”

“Like what!?”

“Oh, I don’t know, like, come and run away with me.”

The irritation was already in his voice and now became clear on Art’s face as well: “Oh, don’t be ridiculous! You don’t really believe that!?”

“Why wouldn’t they have a relationship like we have?”

“Because they don’t and we never ran off with each other….You rather ran out of me.”

They were now glaring at each other, the tension between them sharp like the edge of a knife. Paul was the first to turn away. Art felt a sting of shame when he remembered another time he had lost his patience with Paul; the most violent of outburst he had ever had and the one that had broken his heart. Maybe because the breakdown had been forged with his own actions, rather than Paul’s. Art stared into nothing, his hand with pen in it still hanging a few inches above the paper. 

Paul had turned back into himself. He acknowledged he was definitely not a peacemaker, nor had he always been the kindest person. What hurt most were the moments were their friendship had taken a backseat to their professional output. When their relationship had suffered under the strain of ego’s and when things broke down, because of the faulted communication or lack thereof. In this case, Paul could not appreciate the irony.

Art was the first to speak: “It was all much easier back then, wasn’t it?”

Paul didn’t really want to burst his bubble, but he never thought it was ever easy, or even more difficult than now, it just was. He said: “Everything is easy in hindsight.”

For a while Art didn’t have a reply, but he was convinced they had been closer, mainly because it really was easier in those days. He couldn’t, however, say what had changed that made his relationship with Paul so hard. 

He ignored Paul was watching him with that mystical look in his eyes. When he was younger, he had often wondered what Paul was thinking. He never found out and eventually gave up trying to find out, but Artie knew what that look meant. Whatever it was that aroused Paul, Artie learnt not to question it.

After all these years, after all the drama they went through with each other, Art still felt the same about Paul. It flattered Paul and it was gratifying. Artie had always been his most loyal friend. His loyalty and his romanticism resulted in that view of the past, Paul knew. It was an endearing quality of Art.

Paul’s hand stroke against Art’s cheek affectionately. Art still ignored Paul. Paul moved a little closer his hand now in Art’s neck playing with the little curls behind his ear. He moved in closer and put his lips against Art’s jaw kissing him. Art’s brain was telling him he should push Paul away, but his heart wanted nothing else but the soft kisses. Paul’s lips travelled over Art’s jaw to his mouth and he kissed Art gently on the corner of his mouth. Paul’s tongue lightly stroking those lips and pushing into his mouth. Art closed his eyes, shamefully enjoying the intrusion. 

Art allowed himself to pretend they were back in one of their teenage bedrooms. A secret snog between homework and harmony practice. The forbidden air of the situation had sure added to the excitement. More excitement in those days, but also more honesty, a sincere feeling of affection, an uncomplicated relationship, still very straight forward; Art loved Paul and Art was sure Paul loved him back. Paul’s hand slipped inside his pants cupping Artie’s growing arousal. They had gotten more accustomed to the sensations since the first awkward stumbles. They had developed long work outs for whenever they spend the night together. Silentl love making, not disturbing any sleeping family members. They had developed short work outs for inbetween homework, secret quick rubs once they were unseen. This was the latter.   
Paul massaged Art expertly till satisfaction and then with one last quick peck on the lips he retreated. The only proof left were Artie’s red cheeks and a wet spot which Art hid skilfully under his shirt..

Art returned to the present feeling stupid for letting Paul do that. Not willing to give in, it was Art restarting the conversation: “You remember back in London?”

Paul only mumbled under his breath: “Of course I remember back in London.”

Art ignored Paul’s apparent irritation: “We were really close in those days. Those were simpler times, and I don’t remember we ever fought like this.”

“Of course we did, I remember. You always remember things in weird ways.”

This was another subject that caused frustration between them. Paul always accused Art of remembering everything in a romantic way and of making things up that really never happened.

After a bit chewing it over in his head, Art still came to the same conclusion: “No, we were definitely closer back in the days. Paul, they were always commenting on the amount of time we spend together.”

Paul said nothing leaning his head in his hand and glancing at Art’s papers. This conversation was no longer his, Art had taken over. He let Art daydream away.

“Awwww….it was always summer in London and despite of what people say, I remember a lot of sunshine. Our rhythm, our cycle of sleep and wake, was really well tilted.”

Paul glanced at Art watching his eyes get all drowsy and dreamy. Art had a way with words which was so off, sometimes it was really hard to understand what he was trying to say. For some reason, that always fascinated Paul. Art was well read, intelligent, and an intellectual, but his use of language was something else.

Art daydreamt on out loud straight through Paul’s internal muses: “I can still see Kathy falling asleep, somewhat leaning against you and making it increasingly harder for you to play the guitar. But you didn’t want to move, because you were afraid you’d wake her. Kathy was so pretty. I still see her going around with that hat in France.” Art nudged Paul in the ribs. “You remember?”

Paul corrected him lazily: “Kathy wasn’t in France with us.”

“Really, you’re sure!?I can still see her in my mind’s eye,” Art looked genuinely surprised.

“You’re making things up again, Artie.”

“It’s such a shame it didn’t work out between you two.”

Paul just hummed. Art finally seemed to take his daydreaming inside his head. Paul resumed plucking at the loose thread while Art drifted off into an internal daydream.

Paul hadn’t thought about Kathy for a long time. Yes, somehow, looking back, things really did seem simpler. Maybe that was Kathy’s quality; Paul sure never had such screaming fights with Kathy, like he had with Carrie. They always seemed to want to do the same thing and when Paul wanted to do something, Kathy was always supportive. At the same time she was caring; she took any feelings of homesickness away. She made him feel home in England. Yes, it really was a shame things didn’t work out between them. Who knows what his life would have looked like. It might have been a lot more peaceful. He might have hurt her in some way, screwing it up, like he would. No, it was a good thing he didn’t do that to her. She was such a fragile girl, so sweet and innocent. She really wouldn’t have deserved that. She was also pretty much the only girl Artie really liked as well. Paul remembered watching the two of them doing things together all the while giggling. He was sure they talked about him, also all the while giggling. Funny, he had never really thought about it, it had never worried him. Why not? Artie liked her, she liked him.

Paul glanced sideways again to see Art still pretty far away: “Artie!”

Art turned to him his eyes only slowly focussing as if he had trouble letting go of his reverie.

“Were you ever in love with Kathy?” Paul asked.


	9. Here I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From 2010 to around 2012.

Art felt Paul’s hand in his neck slowly rubbing down his shoulder and then sliding off of him; the most important of support among the many more. The audience was singing along. Art was not sure if that was pure support, or just an attempt to drown out his pathetic out-of-tune squealing. Had he not gained some confidence, had he not been too proud to cancel, he wouldn’t have been there. Any other singer would have canceled. Why would any singer do this to himself? Why was he doing it to himself?

Art gave all he had, which was, to his professional ears, not a whole lot. Definitely not what he used to have; a powerful clear voice. His heart was bleeding and his cheeks were red with embarrassement, but he could blame that on the heat. The audience was fantastic, especially for not getting what they had paid for. Paul was at his supportive best, something, Art feared, wouldn’t last too long. That was Paul; there at the height of misery, but then completely failing when Art needed him the most. It was a scary prospect, because especially now, Art needed Paul’s support more than ever. Who knows, maybe this time Paul had gotten grown up enough to get that.

A thunderous applause ended a trying performance and Art was glad to be done with it. Relieved he waved at the applauding audience clapping their hands off. He knew he didn’t deserve it today; he took it as a thank you for everything that had come before. He walked back to take his bows together with Paul. Paul met him halfway flinging his arms around his neck. Art hadn’t anticipated such a hug, he was already stepping back causing Paul to only half hug. The relieve was so great, it felt as if a heavy weight fell off him. He felt freed and Paul was with him sharing in the liberating feeling. They stood together in front of this audience, their hands together in glorious victory. Or was it survival this time? Whatever it was, it felt good after that abominable performance. He knew it wasn’t his fault; he knew he couldn’t help having lost his voice. He could have canceled, but didn’t and Paul had supported him in his decision to go on the stage anyway. It was these moments, these moments of fight (instead of flight), Art found Paul right behind him, right next to him, right with him where he needed him. Art was grateful for that and scared what would come next. Would his voice recover? Would he ever be able to sing again? Would Paul stick with him, even when his voice didn’t return? What would he do if his voice never returned anymore? What would he do if he lost his friendship with Paul, this time forever? What was still left of their bond to survive that? Art wasn’t sure.

He watched Paul walk back to his trailer. He hadn’t spoken out his worries; Paul would probably find them childish, as he always did. After all these years, after all the splits, all the squabbles, Art couldn’t see any difference. He could not see how Paul would be different and really stand by his side for as long as it would take. It would just not happen, because Paul would want to get back in business. He would find other avenues, probably go back to solo work again. Art was now fine with that. It still stung though, but he couldn’t forbid Paul to do anything without him. What would it do to their relationship; music had been a binding force over the years when they fell apart. So often they refound their bond because people had asked them to play as a duo. Not any of the reunions happened because of other reasons, it had always been the music. If Art couldn’t sing anymore, their main common interest was gone and there was nothing left to pull them back together. It frightened Art. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life without any contact with Paul. He wasn’t sure he could handle that, he had to keep faith they would be all right.

~~.~~

What a stretch of time it was. What an extraordinary journey it was. Now here they were, weathered, older, on their own. 

Artie pursed his lips as he weighed his words. The same old questions: “How was his relationship with Paul at the moment? Any chance on a reunion?”

“It really depends on Paul. I’m up for it,” Art smiled carefully.

If only they knew what a complicated situation it was, how hard it was to answer that question. Art hadn’t talked to Paul for about 5 years. He had no idea what Paul was thinking, as if he ever knew. He had no idea if they would ever talk again. Time was running out. Art tried not to be restless, not to care too much, not to worry if he would ever talk to Paul again. It shouldn’t matter; he didn’t need Paul to live a satisfactory life. 

Truth was, it did make him restless and sad. Truth was he still loved Paul like he always had. Unfortunately, their differences had set them on different paths and over the years they had strayed from each other. Their paths always crossed, but with every new stray they seemed to take longer and longer to find each other again. It had never been their initiative. It had never been their desire to seek contact again. Neither wanted to be the first one.

“Did he do Bridge with Sting?” Art asked the interviewer tentatively. 

He could feel the nerves well up in his stomach. He didn’t want to know the answer, but he needed to know.

“Yes,” the answer was.

He added the newest of betrayals to the list calculating the total. He was right, Paul never changed; he would still pull those tricks. That tour was theirs, planned to be theirs, not Sting’s. He couldn’t go along singing Bridge with whoever; he gave that song to Art, it was his to sing. Well, that was maybe a little selfish, but still.

The interview lay still as Art tried to calm his rage. To distract himself and to put the interview back in motion, he pulled out some papers with his latest works of poetry on it. There, he didn’t need Paul Simon to have a satisfactory life. He didn’t need Paul Simon to write the words to his life, he could do that himself.

 

He was there to talk about his latest album, he knew what they really wanted to talk about. He could see them cower, gathering up the nerves to ask. Even though he rather not talk about it, he would answer their questions. It became part of his life; Art became part of his life, even when he was not actually in his life anymore. It was what interested people the most.

The interviewer did a quick mood check before lounging into the question: “Art called you a jerk last year, for walking away from Simon & Garfunkel. Do you have any reaction?”

What did he think? Did he miss Artie? Did he even allow himself to miss Artie? Paul didn’t like all the looking back, he wanted to move forward, needed to move forward. What was left if he couldn’t go on and explore? There was nothing with Artie he hadn’t seen yet. As a matter of fact, every single reunion now felt like the same ride on the same carousel. Paul was not willing to go round in circles, running into the same arguments, the same accusations, the same old emotions they never quite managed to settle. Artie always accused him of having not changed, well, the same could be said about Art.

“…It’s just Artie. He’s wrestling with his demons…”

He would be lucky the day he didn’t have to answer anymore. Would he? It would surely mean the end.

Maybe they had already passed the end. In Paul’s mind, the chance on another reunion was slim. What was there left to say? What was there left to do? Just reuniting to say goodbye? That felt like a death sentence; he was not dead yet, nor ill, and still active. Was he keeping the chance on a reunion open after all?

 

Art returned to his hotel room clutching his poetry and musing about the present and the future. Let’s say he would never talk to Paul again, would that really make a difference in his life? Truth was, Art had gotten used to not talking to Paul. That didn’t mean he didn’t miss him, but he handled it, more or less fairly well. Maybe this really was the end of them as a duo. 

Well, good riddance to him.

 

Paul walked away from the chitter and chatter, the big prying eyes, and from all the questions, into the quiet of his own mind. At this juncture, it all looked fine. His mind momentarily flashed a memory of Artie. Sighing, slipping away, smiling at him. Paul had enjoyed touring with Art again, those had been good years. Yes, he could admit it to himself; he did miss Art, but he’ll be damned for being the first to pick up the phone. Paul didn’t feel he’d done something wrong, not this time. He honestly didn’t know why their contact fell through. Apparently Artie was angry with him.

Well, good riddance to him.


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wishful thinking.

The noises were getting a bit much and the hassle was now a young man’s game. The old friends were content to sit quietly, like bookends, watching those youngsters run around trying to get it all right. It was flattering and they were well cared for. Who would have thought, about 70 years ago, they’d be sitting here at their own tribute concert, with youngsters serenading them with their songs, Simon & Garfunkel songs to Simon & Garfunkel. If only they knew back then.

Anya approached them from behind. She had been taking care of them ever since they arrived. She put a gentle hand on Paul’s shoulder as she came around to face the two men.

“How would you feel to sing us a song or two?” she inquired.

Art immediately sat up a little: “I would love to, my dear.”

Anya smiled amused: “I wasn’t really asking you,” she admitted and Art slummed a little in his chair: “because I assumed you would love to.”

Art reacted a little grumpy: “What made you think he wouldn’t want to?”

She wasn’t sure: “Well….I had to ask someone?”

“Everybody always asks Paul.”

Anya moved over to Art’s side and gave him a well meaning squeeze in his shoulder. 

“You’re not turning into a grumpy old man, Mr. Garfunkel?”

“And I don’t like to be patronized either! I’m not senile.”

Anya was laughing a little: “I was just teasing you. As a matter of fact, I would love you to sing.”

Finally Paul decided to join the conversation: “You’re not gonna let me climb that stage on my own?”

A silence descended. Anya felt a little uncomfortable with it. She heard about their many spats and arguments, about their difficult relationship over the years, but the conclusion must be, if after all these years, these two were sitting here like this, that difficult relationship was also a very deep one, a very compassionate one.

Art finally broke the silence: “You know perfectly well how to do that on your own.”

Paul frowned: “Are you still angry with me?”

Anya quickly chipped in to calm the mood: “You two are not going to split under my watch.”

“Of course not, my dear,” Art surprisingly agreed. “Don’t worry about us; we weathered worse storms.”

She stood watching them, two old men, still proud, still very much in control over their own lives, still opinionated, and still friends. They were heroes. They were around longer than she had been alive. She grew up with their music and their faces. She could remember watching a music show and seeing them as youngsters in their heyday. To her, they had always been around. It was common knowledge, something you learnt at a very young age. It was as if at some point in your life, you learnt to talk, you learnt to walk and you learnt Simon & Garfunkel did harmonies.  
They were unreachable, and yet, there they were. She was a bit taken aback by their aging; in her memories, they were the Simon & Garfunkel from the 80’s and seeing them as old men reminded her that time was moving on and she was slowly losing all her heroes.

They were endearing to her, quite charming, nothing of arrogance, misbehaviour, distant or any of those other characteristics that made them notorious. Their personal assistants, some old colleagues and family members ensured her they were remarkably sweet on her. “They like you,” some of them said. “Like me?” she had asked incredulously: “They don’t even know me!” Those people had shrugged: “They’re not usually that relaxed with strangers.”

Anya smiled politely and mumbled under her breath: “Don’t I know it.”

“Hmmm, what was that!?” She pretended she hadn’t heard that.

It was all silly, wasn’t it? All that squabbling, all those power struggles and ego tripping. A young man’s game. In the end, all that was not what it was all about. Part of their squabbling, especially now, was just theatre, maybe a bit of a habit. In any case, it wasn’t serious; they had too much to lose and they were too old to engage in silly squabbling.

Art looked aside at Paul. He looked content. In the last few years he had really grown old, the few hairs left now white as snow. The dark of his eyes had softened and more lines were silent witnesses of his age. Art was content too. They could laugh now, about all those boyish fall outs. They figured, they finally figured, it was all because of love. Had it been with someone else, they wouldn’t have cared all that much, they wouldn’t have fought that hard; they would have walked away and never return. That was not what happened.

Paul’s hands lay quietly in his lap. Playing guitar was hard these days; his hands, especially his left hand, were now almost constantly hurting and his fingers had gotten stiff.  
He wasn’t ignoring Art, he just choose not to turn to him. Even though the blue in his eyes weren’t as bright as they once were and Art seemed to squint permenantly, Paul could still see that same look of affection. His loyal friend. His good friend. His best friend. Still.

Art didn’t need any confirmation; all the things unsaid had been unsaid for so long, they both knew them. Something had shifted over the years, it had taken the edge off of the pain. He only needed to remind himself from time to time, so he looked at Paul. He was still there, they were both still there, together. All the misgivings had not changed that. All the arguments had not changed that. Not their personalities had changed that. Seeing the prove gave Art all the confirmation he needed and he was grateful.  
There are always at least two people in a relationship. There is action and inaction on both sides. Two to blame. Two to hurt.

He turned his gaze away from his old friend and watched in amusement the hassle, the stress and devotion, all in their names. It really was flattering. He remembered being right in the middle of it when he was a youngster himself. Everything had to be exactly right. He could now say, it all paid off.  
His thoughts were interrupted by a warm hug, a hand in the nape of his neck, squeezing a little, then trailing down and rubbing him between his shoulder blades. A gesture he knew so well. It still filled him with the same warm feelings. This time Art choose not to react and turn.

“Look at them run,” Paul chuckled amused.

Art chuckled with him: “Awww, to be young…”

Anya returned with hot beverages and some snacks. She set them carefully on a small table in front of them.

“Be careful, the coffee is hot.”

She sat down in front of them watching them. Both Paul and Art sipped their coffees and munched on some cookies all the while giving her short glances.

“Look at you two,” she giggled. “You look so content. Many would give anything to be in my place...”

Art grimaced: “It makes me feel like a circus animal…. I’m sure he’s glad of the attention,” he gestured at Paul who gave him a mock glare.

“…or being here performing for you,” Anya finished her sentence.

She smiled knowingly: “You’re not trying to convince me that you don’t? I mean, you’re in the same business…and have been for a long time.”

Art shrugged: “It’s the singing…I do it for the singing….I love singing and touching people in that way.”

Anya got up and gently patted Art on his shoulder: “Good,” she quietly said before walking away.

Eighty years down the line, still at each other’s sides. They came of age together. They had seen the world change together; they had changed the world a little together. They had watched each other change and still stay the same. The same piece of clay, day after day, year after year. It had been an amazing journey, one that was shared in love, one that had been hard at times, but one that had been rewarding. 

Which other couple could say they’ve been friends for about 80 years? Not many. Not many could say they remembered their friend’s first girlfriend, the growing up through pimples and spots and being rejected by a girl, and going through their first heart break. Yes, they had gone through several heart breaks together, incidentally, almost every time simultaneously. Remarkably, their lives had always flowed somewhat parallel; they had often found themselves meeting each other at a crossroad, noticing the similarities and because of that exactly understanding what the other man was going through. It kept pulling them back together. Sometimes it felt as if they were two parts of the same soul. Especially when they were teens, all the reasons to be together were because together they could do more and do it better. They learnt how to act like one perfect person made up out of two flawed characters. 

For the first time in his life Paul was now worried about losing Art, his Artie. For every time he turned his back at his partner, Paul had never worried, had not even considered it might be the end of their friendship. In his mind, that never was a possibility. He and Artie were forever, nothing could change that. Now life was drawing to an end, and both men were suffering the traces of time and age, Paul realized soon they had to say their farewells. Suddenly, losing Artie had become a real possibility. Paul wasn’t even sure if he could bare losing him. He could not imagine what effect it would have on him, on his life. Artie had always been somewhere, always possible to reach out and get back in contact. Never really gone.

~.~

Slim teenage fingers peeled the pages apart. Dark enigmatic eyes read some lines he wrote about two years earlier:

_"Went to the assembly today. There was a boy singing, he sounded like a bird. All the girls liked him. His name is Art Garfunkel. He lives a few blocks away. One day I will go meet him."_

His lips formed a small smile. It had happened, finally; Paul had gone and talked to Art. It had been so easy; they immediately clicked. Only two weeks in, they were already best friends. Paul had never before met anyone like Art, had never before met anyone who understood him so readily and who shared the same interests, the same ideas and the same zest for life and who was at the same time so different from him. Artie fascinated Paul, stimulated and encouraged him. Art had connected with him like no-one ever had before. 

Paul carefully put the pages back together sticking them to each other; no-one, not even Artie, needed to know Paul put him in his scrapbook right next to his idols and heroes.

~.~

Years back, probably in 1967, Art went to some senior homes to record old people noises and talking. The noises he now was making himself. The crunch of the cookie and his ongoing incessant humming, clearing his throat and smacking his lips. Paul listened to the flow of sounds escaping his old friend. Artie had never been good at staying quiet; if the quiet lasted too long, Artie would always start humming and singing. He still did at age 93. It used to annoy Paul, now it comforted him; as long Artie was making noises, he was stil with him. That was all Paul wanted. That was not unlike the first time Paul saw him and heard him sing; all he wanted was Artie to be with him, to be his friend. They came full circle.


	11. Burning Bridges Over Troubled Water (the Alternative Chapter V)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Artie revisit their friendship in 1975 after a few years of individual life.
> 
>  **Reviews:** Yes, please. This piece has not been Beta’d before I posted it.  
>  **Disclaimer and other nonsense:** I was not too happy with chapter V of “A Different Kind of Love” so I took the same period and wrote a completely different chapter. You can read this as an independent piece of writing, or as part of “A Different Kind of Love”..  
>  **the actual Disclaimer:** Less brutal, but still quite intrusive. I mean no disrespect to the real Simon  & Garfunkel. This is all fiction peppered with some real life facts, but don’t let that distract you.

Paul felt a sting of jealousy when Art showed off his panorama view over Central Park from his new Upper East Side flat. Paul too had a lovely view on Central Park from his only recently purchased Upper West side flat, but Artie wriggled his way into the Upper East Side, the neighbourhood for the old established rich, the better neighbourhood out of the two. Paul wished he had been as bold as Artie. 

The flat was still very empty since Art was still redecorating. After Art showed off his three rooms and four bathrooms they sat down in the living room on the floor. Art didn’t care for cooking so they decided to order in.  
It was strange to spend time together like this. It was also nice to get back in touch. Things changed, happened since they last spent spare time together. Things had been forgotten and other, more positive things, had been remembered and there was always that undercurrent of mutual admiration for characteristics they themselves missed. Together they were more whole, but also more conflicted. Depending on the amount of time spent together the balance tipped to one side or the other bringing them back together or pushing them away. Maybe Art could come up with a formula for it so they could calculate the tipping point.

Similarities in their lives had always brought them together. The sheer pleasure of each others company, a certain understanding, their shared sense of humour and several interests they shared, always pulled them back together. Right into the fold where and when everything also started to unravel. It was complicated.

Art sat picking the last crumbs of his food making sure nothing, not a smear, was left. Paul leant backwards on his hands resting a fulfilled stomach, a lukewarm beer close to hand. They hadn’t talked much yet, the food conveniently interrupting their tentative conversation. They felt awkward and comfortable at the same time; a strange mix of feelings.

“Your divorce through?” Paul asked not caring for correct grammar. 

Art half shrugged: “Nearly,” licking his fingers clean, not looking up at Paul, “In two weeks I have to go to sign the papers.”

Paul lazily watched Art putting the dishes aside and wiping his mouth with a napkin. Slender, pale fingers gingerly pushing dirty plates and cutlery out of reach. His eyes linger a little too long, but Paul doesn’t think Art noticed. 

He answers: “We already signed the papers; I’m a free man.”

Art, not really willing to talk about his divorce, just hums. He looks sad about it, disappointed probably. Paul, going through the same situation feeling the same pain, understands perfectly. His hand touches Art’s cheek, both recoil in shock. It had been even longer since they had been intimate. Paul quickly retreated into himself, but Artie overcame the initial shock realizing the door for more was ajar. He let the moment pass, for now.

After a few awkward moments Paul asked cautiously: “You want to sing?”

Art looked up surprised yet carefully; he didn’t want to seem too eager. Hesitantly he answered: “You mean with you? You mean harmonizing?...Yeah, sure…”

Paul was already unpacking his guitar resting it in his lap. 

“What about “Bye Bye Love?” he suggested.

It was a safe start, something they both knew well and loved, and something they had done together many times before. Paul’s strumming was timid at first, as much as Art’s singing was reserved. Did they still remember how to play and sing together? Were they still on the same wavelength enough to find that common thrill and their blend?   
The first song was a safe rendition of a classic, nothing too exciting, but solid and with promise. During the second song they came closer to their old sound and closer to each other. During the third song they refound their blend, guitar and voices growing stronger and swirling together into that familiar sound. They were both laughing at the end of the third song.

It was not a feeling of euphoria. It was not the teenage excitement of their early hit as Tom & Jerry. It was not even the surprising closeness of a new blossoming friendship or even the renewal of an old one. It was a familiarity as homely as it was scary, hopeful as it was daunting and embracing as it was rejecting.

Paul’s eyes studied Art’s face and body language. He had written a song for Artie, but was careful in offering it to him. Art noticing the look in Paul’s eyes broke the silence: “Wot!?”

There was no use in postponing it: “I wrote you a song…for your new album…I thought you need a song that’s a bit grittier, a bit darker…would make a nice variation…on your usual stuff…”

Art seemed unmoved, cautious: “Oh?”

“You want to hear it?”

“Sure, let’s hear it,” Artie broke a timid smile to try and look accepting.

Paul fumbled in the first attempt, stopped and started again. Artie sat there, quietly, not showing much emotion. Paul wasn’t sure why he was suddenly all nervous. He tried again, feeling he was over-emphasizing his strumming. He played a cautious version, a bit sloppy, not quite the way he wanted it. It didn’t matter as long Artie liked it; he would polish it up, brighten it up the way only Artie could. Hopefully he liked it. Hopefully he didn’t think Paul had no cause giving him songs, or think that Paul thought his choice of material was bad. Hopefully he would accept the song. Paul wasn’t sure how he would react if Art rejected the song. He was sure it would disappoint him, maybe even tear him up a little. Artie had always been his biggest supporter, his biggest fan; Paul could not bear losing that.

Paul studied Art’s face trying to decipher before Art would speak what he thought of the song. Art’s eyes sparkling grey and blue, introverted, pink lips slightly parted and those delicate features. No matter the urgency of having to know , a slight sexual distraction occupied Paul’s brain spreading down where his guitar was still hiding indecency. Art took long expressing what he thought of the song, or maybe Paul was just impatient. No, Art was slow because his brain was already working out the arrangements. He was already working out the instruments in his head, the harmonies, chords, rhythms, production. Paul maybe could do backing vocals, if he wanted to.

Paul could see Art’s eyes going, rolling around, hazy. Paul recognized it, Art trying to work something out. Paul knew Art long enough to know what that was. He liked the song, was already working on it, was already forming ideas of how to record it. But Paul still needed the confirmation, he needed to hear Artie say he was going to take the song and record it.

“So?” he prompted.

Art gave him a hazy look, a pause and then the realization: “Oh. Great! I love it! Thanks.”

Paul nodded and undid the strap from around his shoulder. Art was once again miles away, his thoughts back in the studio putting the song together. Paul quietly put the guitar away and quietly watched Artie.   
They were still the same. Paul ambitious and cautious, Art laid back and observing. There was a quiet between them that was not silence; it was understanding, a mutual introvert awaiting of how a situation would unfold. That they always had in common, as well as their perfectionism. Both characteristics, bonding the men also making them seem aloof. They had that in common too. Art need not explain.

Paul watched him jot some quick notes down on a stray piece of paper.

“I’ll get you my notes,” Paul offered.

Art looked up: “Great, yeah, that would help,” he smiled sweetly.

Paul just nodded as he watched Art going back to his notes. It was flattering to see Art gratefully accepting the song and wanting to work on it straight away, but now that was off of Paul’s mind, Paul preferred Artie to pay some attention to him, not the song. That quick touch, the warmth of Art’s cheek was still tingling on Paul’s fingers. He wanted the touch, as if he was afraid his fingers would go cold, he might forget how it felt, how good it felt. He could sit and wait for a long time, Art’s attention was completely taken up with work now. He didn’t even really notice Paul moving closer and seemed genuinely surprised when Paul put a hand in his neck attracting his attention and then when he turned his head Paul pressed his lips firmly against Art’s.

When Paul let go of him he just stared.

Paul’s eyes seemed softer. The expression on Paul’s face gentler, younger, almost childlike. His dark brown eyes were wide and his pupils staring deep into Artie’s. The pen slipped from Artie’s fingers and hit the floor with a sharp clang echoing around the walls of the empty apartment. Neither men paid any attention to it.

From that point on it all went automatically. Art leant in covering Paul’s face in small kisses. Paul wrapped his arms around Art pulling them close together as he nipped at the skin in Art’s neck. Hands quickly started roaming in shirts and undoing buttons and zippers. Clothes came off in a rapid fashion while the two boys embraced each other, held each other, craving the warmth of the other, longing for something they didn’t realize they missed. They came together like they had before; it was so easy, they were so tuned to each other. Their body’s moving in sync and intertwining, their breathing like a rhythm section to the melody of their love making. They twirled around each other, warming hands keeping each other safe. 

They moved together smoothly into position, Paul in front with Art behind, like so often on and off stage. Paul leant on a chair while Art’s right hand was on Paul’s hip, his left hand guiding to meet Paul intimately. Paul gasped as Art moved slowly into him. It had been so long, Paul was not accustomed to this sort of intimacy anymore. The stretch it required was shocking and he found himself holding his breath as he leant heavily onto the chair. Art’s hands were on his hips gently tugging as he tried to move further inward. 

His mouth was close to Paul’s left ear: “You’re all right?” he whispered.

He stopped moving altogether waiting for Paul’s reply.

Paul took a sharp breath of air then breathed out slowly: “I’m okay,” he assured Artie.

Art sucked patiently at Paul’s ear while his hands gently tucked at Paul’s hips again. Through the mess of disconnected thoughts, deep emotions and uncontrolled actions, Art tried to determine how much he didn’t care. He wondered idly if he could cross the unspoken border, if he could push on even when Paul told him not to, that it hurt. Was he angry enough? Was he that angry still? Did he hurt that badly, so badly he could do Paul an injury?

No, he couldn’t.

Once Art found the perfect position and rhythm, his hands travelled up Paul’s body wrapping around his torso and pulling him close to his chest. He rested his left cheek against Paul’s head, the hair tickling his face. He could smell shampoo and Paul’s spicy scent; he missed him. Art closed his eyes letting the warmth and smoothness of Paul wash over him. He moved in rhythm slowly, savouring every friction, Paul’s warm hold and the occasional squeeze making him moan. Paul let him take his time for a while. He would never admit he thoroughly enjoyed Art’s embrace and temporary control over him. At this point, in this embrace, Paul knew Art would never let him down, would never let him fall.

Paul allowed himself to drift away on the sweetness of Artie’s unfailing love. Swift waves of intensity overwhelming his senses, a light feeling in his head and his knees nearly buckling as he climaxed just in time catching his release in his left hand saving Artie some mopping. Artie followed soon with a moan and contented gasp. For a while after, he held on to Paul, not looking forward to the upcoming cold and feelings of loneliness, going back to being one half of…detached and a little lost.

Paul inspected his left hand and looked around for something to wipe his hand off on. He tried to pull away from Artie in the narrow space he left him. When he turned around and looked up silently communicating his wish to pull away, his eyes met Art’s. Nothing really changed; Art was still holding on to things that weren’t anymore while Paul was already moving on.


End file.
